


Witch of the Wilds

by vesta02



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An AU of an AU, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Sibling Love, formerly inktober prompts, so much canon divergence y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesta02/pseuds/vesta02
Summary: Originally ficlets for Inktober 2019 featuring an AU of an AU with Warden Amell and his love for Rosalind, a witch of the wilds, during the Blight.
Relationships: OC/OC, Warden Amell/OC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Ring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhetoricalrogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/gifts).



> hi, hello, it's been a hot second since I've done anything here. What started as a 'what if' conversation that lead to the Avvar AU I have posted (which, promise, will eventually get a bit of tweaking and love) turned into a new AU last year that I started writing during Inktober 2019. I didn't finish but I plan to try doing it now. These ficlets are all out of order, depending on what I felt like or feel like writing. idk I love these two and rhetoricalrogue just feeds all my plot bunnies to help make these possible ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Gifts were a sentimentality that Roz hadn’t been offered in her childhood. Objects didn’t need to hold meaning in their little hut in the Wilds; they were only reminders that attachments followed anything given. There was always a price, whether it would come now or later, and Roz knew better than most that there was no room for weakness in the world. Vulnerability could get you killed if you weren’t careful.

And, oh, Roz had been so careful.

No one got close enough to see her, she made sure of that. Distance and mental walls were her closest friend, especially after Morrigan had left their home almost a year before. There was an unbearable weight in the home when it was just Roz and their mother, whose words were weapons against skin that had never grown quite thick enough to ward off off-the-cuff remarks meant to cut deep. Far from the only home that she’d known, those words flitted into her mind, reminding her that anyone who got close would hurt and use her before they left.

And yet, despite herself, those walls were slowly crumbling. Brick by brick, inch by inch, the distance of separation from her fellows was becoming unavoidable. Her campsite was a little closer each time they settled for the night, her own campfire kept alight even when she wavered between the two sides of this new world. 

A change had come and it was terrifying.

“You seem far away,” Vincent’s voice was a low rumble as she jerked in surprise, caught between the two camps, unsure if she wanted to venture to the main fray or retreat again to the safety of the known. His blue eyes watched her with a soft steadiness, the corners crinkling slightly with the smile that grew the longer she held her gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

“I, uh,” Roz stumbled on her words a moment, her face suddenly heated and flushed (which she could hardly blame the fire on) as she clenched her fist behind her back. “I have something for you, if you’d like it.” He had given her gifts - a necklace that glimmered in the firelight, a perfume that she wore sparingly if only to keep the scent lasting longer, delivering her safely the Grimoire - without asking for anything in return. 

“Oh?” Vincent’s grin grew as he stepped in closer to her orbit. “Now I’m intrigued.” He was playful and she relaxed just a bit, some of the breath she’d been holding leaving her in a small, huffing laugh.

“Don’t laugh!” But there was a smile playing at the corners of her lips, trying to float through the surge of emotions: happiness, uncertainty, fear, and, of course, the idea that he’d reject what she had to offer. She didn’t have much and knew so little of the world and maybe, just maybe, this would seem silly and trivial compared to what someone else might have to give him. 

“I won’t, promise.” Vincent drew two lines over his heart, the playfulness softening as he took another small step towards her. “I’d never laugh at you, Rosalind.” There was no denying the honesty and genuine affection that eked from him, his willingness to be soft around her helping with another ounce of tension leaving her shoulders.

Roz brought her hand from behind her back, fist slowly uncurling as she held out what she’d been carefully crafting. Rosewood glimmered in the firelight and, when looking closer, detailing along the ring shifted with the silhouettes of animals encircling it. 

“It’s enchanted,” Roz let the words tumble from her lips as she held the gift out for him, babbling when he slid it onto his finger. “This way, I’ll always be able to find you, wherever you might go.” Even under the best of circumstances, Roz’s heart ached at the truth: there would be a day when they would have to part. 

Once they had sorted the Blight, once their quest had ended, she would probably retreat back into the swamp and wild land of her youth while he would stay with the Wardens. There was no place for her in his life beyond these shared days they had now.

Even with the truth, Roz let herself believe, if only for a moment, that this would tether them together instead of breaking them apart. No matter how far he would wander, she would know he was still alive and well.

Vincent was silent and, for a moment, Roz wondered if she shouldn’t have bothered. But he glanced at the ring and then to her, closing the distance with his arms wrapped around her in a gentle embrace. “It’s beautiful, Roz. Thank you for this gift.” She pressed her face into his chest, smiling softly, breathing him in.

“I’m glad you like it, my love.”


	2. Mindless

Roz knew there would be trouble if she didn’t do as her mother told. Tasks had been set aside for her completion, mindless work to keep her occupied as a battle raged onward only a few miles away. In light of the fighting she knew was happening, drying herbs and mending a few shifts felt meaningless in the grand scheme of things. 

“Let me come with!” Roz had begged when Flemeth had swept out their front door. “I can help!” 

“You will stay here, girl, until I return.” There was always a short note of finality in her tone when she gave an order, golden eyes cast back to Roz, who knew better than to disobey. “If I am right…” Her voice trailed off, a strange and distant look crossing her wrinkled features. “If I am right, there is much to be done and a destiny to ensure.”

Roz frowned. “What does that mean?” It wasn’t uncommon for her mother to roll off on a tangent, speaking with words and phrases that only seemed to make sense to her. There were rarely any answers and Roz wasn’t surprised as, with a sweep of darkness cloaking her, Flemeth stole off into the night, her silhouette growing distant in the skies.

In the distance, a storm was brewing, the winds picking up as lightning cracked over the darkness. Roz didn’t know how long she stood outside, watching and listening. Any sound from the battle was masked by thunder as rain began to drizzle down over the swamps. Brushing a damp piece of red hair away from her face, Roz finally turned to head back inside. A flick of her wrist had the fire roaring to life, warmth flooding the small hut within a few minutes.

Outside the storm raged as she tried to busy herself, hands shaking at each clap of thunder. What if her mother didn’t return? That thought was both terrifying and thrilling all at once. So many things could happen in a battle and not even her mother could know what was to come in the chaos. Morrigan had left, Roz could do the same, couldn’t she? 

The thought floated away, the bubble of hope popped succinctly as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention. Another bolt of lightning zigzagged across the skies as, glancing towards the window, Roz caught the last moments of wings and claws against dark clouds and sheets of rain. Dropping the stitching, she hurried to the door, flinging it open against the storm.

Despite the strangeness of her life and the last few days, Roz never could have expected what she saw before her. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Flemeth barked as Roz rushed forward, almost instantly soaked through the moment she stepped out from the safety of their hut. Her mother may have had a strange strength, but it wasn’t enough to endure bringing in two bodies to their home. 

“Are they-?” Roz’s voice rose above the storm, cut off by another clap of thunder as her eyes widened. Bloodied and bruised, his lips parted, the face of Vincent Amell lolled into view, his companion (the templar trainee, if she wasn’t mistaken) held up by her mother. “What are they doing here?” 

“Getting soaked, girl, until you deign to help.” Roz moved quickly, grasping Vincent beneath the shoulder, heaving him into the cabin, her mother on her heels. 

“But...what happened?” Roz tried to be careful, easing Vincent onto one side of the bed, her mother placing (rather more roughly) Alistair beside him. Both decidedly alive, but Roz could see the blood still freshly soaked through softer armor, nasty cuts smattered across his hands and neck. 

“What I predicted,” Her mother replied cooly. “Now, help me ensure that they do not succumb to their wounds.” Whatever her reasoning, whatever vision had shown her this outcome, Roz had the feeling she wasn’t meant to question her mother. Instead, she bit down on the inside of her cheek, setting her course to see that they didn’t die.

Outside the storm raged on.


	3. Bait

“I’ll be _bait_? What do you mean?” It was almost too easy, Rosalind thought, trying to hide the bemused smirk from her lips at the outcry from Alistair. It was too easy to get a reaction from him, watching as his face flushed and he sputtered out a response anytime she said something that she already knew would garner a response.

“I mean,” Roz replied with a cheshire grin to the younger man, “that I shall simply endeavor to turn you into a toad and see if those nasty spiders will come out to play.” She let the tips of her fingers glow, magic throwing a soft light across her palms as Alistair stammered and glowered at her.

“That’s not funny!” He grumbled, running his fingers through his hair, still flushed pink in a way some might find adorable, but Roz was decidedly unaffected by. “I knew we should have left you back in the swamp.”

“I’m sure I’d have better company by far if I had,” Roz snapped back, humor gone from her face as she glowered back at Alistair. Youthful and lost in too many emotions, Roz only saw someone who should have led but didn’t have it in him to even manage that. Even so, Roz had no reason why her mother had pressed and pushed for her to leave the swamp, trekking further from the Wilds and her home with every mile put between them and the hoard of darkspawn they knew would be hot on their heels.

The tiny town of Lothering wouldn’t last long against the rising armies of darkness that loomed on the horizon. Stragglers from Ostegar and villagers seemed hesitant to do anything to save their skins. _Idiots_ , Roz thought as she turned her back to the irritated Alistair, wondering where their sense of self-preservation was. 

Roz was itching to move along, uncomfortable with how many people were crowding in the village or the number of templars that had appeared near the Chantry not long after they had arrived. There were only a couple, but it was enough for her to feel anxiety build in her chest, a tight vice that ensured snapping and a foul mood all around. The number of unknowns before them were hard to comprehend now that the Wardens were considered criminals. No one had turned them in, but there had been a scuffle that left their small (but growing) party on edge.

“You shouldn’t tease him like that.” Vincent had come to sit beside her on the stack of crates. Roz avoided his gaze for a few moments, making a fuss over adjusting the straps on her pack before fixing him with a hard look.

“Sentimentality will only get us killed,” She replied sharply, chin tilted up just slightly, waiting for him to dare to contradict her. “Death happens, you can’t stay stuck in it.”

“He lost someone he loved like a father, though,” Vincent countered, not quite taking the bait she’d set for him. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or annoyed by this. “How would you feel if your mother died unexpectedly?”

Roz couldn’t help the barking laugh that escaped, humorless and brittle. “I’d dance if that were the case.” The half-truth was easier than admitting anything more, disgusted at the idea that she’d let anything get in the way of her finding a way forward. 

“Dunno if I entirely believe that.” 

“It’s the truth.” Roz glanced back to the crowds of people and then back to him. “We should not linger here, Warden. We should have left two days ago, honestly.”

Vincent’s frown creased deeper at her words, the conflict openly showing on his face. “There’s still things we can do-” he began, but Roz cut him off, a finger in the air, hoovering before his lips but not touching him.

“We can’t help everyone,” She replied gravely, “and there will come a time when we can’t.”

  
“I know,” His breath was warm on the pad of her pointer finger, casting his gaze to the ground and then back to her. “But I have to try anyways, as best I can. Isn’t that what Wardens do?”

Roz felt a small smile curl along the edges of her mouth as she held his gaze. “That’s your realm of expertise, Warden.”

“You can call me Vincent.” The request caught her off-guard as she frowned slightly, considering. All of them far from home, far from the things that they knew; she thought about all the lessons that had been drilled into her about trusting people, wondering just how far she could with any of the people she traveled with.

“I’ll consider it, Warden.” It would be better, she thought as she rose, to keep her boundaries drawn. “Let me know when you’re done trying to save everyone. I’ll be waiting.” She tried to tell herself she wasn’t retreating but each step away felt like it, certain his gaze followed her across the bridge.


	4. Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> disaster bi Vincent is canon

“Your face will freeze that way, _cara mia_ , if you keep looking like that. Perhaps I may - _ouch_!” Roz was glad to have the chatter stop as she ‘accidentally’ pressed a little too hard against the wound she was binding on their newest companion. A pack of strays, the lot of them, and Vincent seemed keen to continue his collection of misfits as they traveled across the countryside.

This one she would have happily done without.

“Hold still,” Roz rolled her eyes as she added a little more ointment to the deep gash on Zevran’s forehead, “or this will hurt more.” There was less than sweet smile on her lips, an edge to her voice, but he still laughed at her.

“As you will it, dear Rosalind.” There was another sharp intake of breath as she pressed harder again, this time looking him directly in the eye so he’d know she meant it.

“Ooops.” Venom would have been preferable, but Roz finished swiftly, pressing her lips into a thin line before pulling her hands away from him. If it had been her choice, they would have left him to bleed out by the side of the road, but she wasn’t in charge. 

A glance across the way and she spotted Vincent digging through some of the turned over crates of supplies; looking, she knew, for anything of value they might sell along the road to keep their dwindling supplies replenished.

“I wish you hadn’t invited the assassin along.” Hands on her hips, Roz enjoyed a moment of towering over the crouched Warden, knowing full well that once he stood she’d be at chest height for him again, if even that. “Who knows what trouble he’ll bring.” Already they had a lay sister from the Chantry, a former prisoner Qunari and the Wardens themselves to draw attention to them, they didn’t need more trouble.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vincent was impossibly cheerful as he stood, grinning a little down at Roz. “He seems pretty harmless now.”

Roz paused, glancing at Vincent incredulously. “Warden, he tried to kill you, or have you forgotten that?” Despite being close in age, there was a certain naivete about him that Roz found both annoying and (secretly) a tad endearing. The men she’d experienced in the world had been brash, brutish things that were easily lured into the swamp by girls whom they thought helpless.

She knew the trick of hiding her teeth, showing softness that would eventually give way to sharp edges and wicked intent.

“No, but I don’t think he’ll try to kill us now.” And there it was - an expression of dazed uncertainty, a flush creeping up Vincent’s neck. Roz may not know much about the world outside, but she recognized _that_ look.

“Oh for-” and Roz threw her hands into the air, exasperation rolling off her in waves. “What, so you’re smitten with him now, are you?” 

The flush spread up his neck, pink mottling his skin as he quickly replied “No!” Then, a little bashfully after a moment’s pause, he added. “Maybe?” 

As though sensing it, Zevran lifted his hand to the pair of them, tossing a wink their way once he was certain he’d caught their eye. Roz rolled her eyes and Vincent coughed, all but deep red at this point.

_Men_.

“Fine. Don’t come crying to me when he stabs you in your sleep.” Turning on her heel, she bent to grab her satchel, stomping far away from Vincent. “Do let me know when you’ve finished flirting with the enemy.” That wasn’t fair, but Roz didn’t know how to stop the words from coming out. Her stomach flipped briefly, emotions knotting over...what? She didn’t _care_ about it, she shouldn’t even bother letting herself indulge in-

She cut the thought off at the pass, leaning to pull a sprig of elfroot up, stuffing it inelegantly into her bag.

From behind, Roz heard Alistair clearing his throat.“For the record, I actually agree with you.”

“Will wonders ever cease?” But the pair briefly shared a moment, a little smile tugging along the corners of Alistair’s mouth and Roz, decidedly, not insulting him. Wordlessly, they moved along as Roz ducked away to collect more plants, shoving them (and her feelings) as far from the sun as she could.


	5. Build

“Why would they build their circle all the way out on the lake?” From the back of the group, Rosalind asked a question that Vincent didn’t have an answer for. Just looking upon his old home had unearthed too many feelings, all of them scratching and clawing to make way to the surface. He tried to clamp down on them, swallowing hard as he tried to look and sound somewhat confident.

“There’s spells and templars, of course, but I figure it’s just easier to add as many obstacles as they can to keep people from trying to escape.” It’s not like any of them learned how to swim or survive out in the wilderness if they managed to somehow escape from their confines, but every manner of security and caution had gone into keeping them in their tower.

Seeing the world now, living in the fresh air with his toes beneath the grass and a sky full of stars, Vincent felt cheated; years were wasted inside those walls, Klinoch holding a part of him he’d never get back. He didn’t know what to do with the sudden and swift bitterness on his tongue, swallowing as he turned back to the tower on the not so distant horizon.

“It looks awful.” The others had gone in for a drink and some rest, but Roz had lingered outside. She had often tried to seem disinterested in the things they saw, the people they had come into contact or to learn about their fellows, but he saw that spark of curiosity in her icy eyes, taking in and watching when she thought no one else was paying attention.

But, Maker, _he’d_ been paying attention.

How could he not? Romance had been forbidden, a rule so absolute that Vincent had always broken things off in his young loves before they could form roots. There were too many dangers but, outside the circle, the possibilities opened before him. He wasn’t stupid - he knew the world was counting on them, that he wasn’t abandoning the mission to bring together Ferelden against the blight over some girl who barely looked his way.

“I’m nervous,” He admitted quietly, watching fog roll across the lake. He didn’t know if Roz had heard him or if she even cared; he hoped she did, but that’s all it seemed to be most days. Hope could only sustain him for so long.

“It’s your home,” Roz surprised him, sliding in alongside him, “shouldn’t you be pleased to be back?” 

They stood together, mere inches apart. Vincent thought, oddly giddy at it, that he could slide his hand into hers like it was the easiest thing in the world, but restrained himself. Roz had been a wild creature these past couple months. One wrong step and he thought she might startle back into the night from whence she came. 

“The longer I’m away, the more it feels like…” Vincent paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel selfish saying it, but it feels like a cage.” Those walls held too many secrets and were tightly guarded in ways that no longer felt safe to him. The world was so much grander and brighter than the rooms he’d lived in. 

He glanced to Roz, watching her expression shift, turning darker the longer she looked out across the water. If things had gone differently, he thought, she would have ended up in a place like this. He wondered if he would have known her then, if they would have connected or if he would be in the same place: close enough to touch, but never daring.

“And you’re nervous that they’ll try to cage you again?” Roz’s voice had a softness to it that he’d only heard a handful of times and, like before, it surprised him. There was someone far gentler beneath the prickly surface that she pushed out into the world, that much he knew.

“Yes.” He answered slowly, surprised at his honesty, glancing over to the lake and back to Roz. There was another fear, quietly tugging at the edge of his mind. _What if they try to cage you as well?_

He didn’t voice that one aloud.

“Well,” Roz shook her head, offering a rueful little smile. “They’ll have to contend with us if they try to get in the way of your duty.” There was a glint in her eyes, a determined crease at the center of her brow. “You won’t be caged, Vincent.”

His heart fluttered. “You didn’t call me Warden.”

If he didn’t know better and had the sun been out instead of the light of the twin moons, Vincent would have sworn he saw a slight blush creeping into Roz’s cheeks. “Tis nothing,” She replied swiftly, but she didn’t close him out. “A momentary slip.”

“You _can_ call me Vincent.”

“I’ll think on it.” Roz turned away, stepping away from his orbit. “Come along, we all need sleep before heading across the lake.” Her steps slowed and Vincent realized she was waiting for him. 

And he wasn’t going to keep her waiting.


	6. Husky

“Let me save you.” No matter how much practicing she had done or how Morrigan had tried to school her in remaining detached and clinical, Roz couldn’t help her own emotions getting away with her as she let out a long, wobbly breath. 

His hands were on her face, palms cradling her cheeks as Vincent tilted her face upward towards his. “Rosalind-” he began, but she shook her head, a small tear escaping despite herself.

“Let me save you.” There was only one option in her mind, faced with the possibility of losing Vincent to this final battle. There were too many unknowns facing them and Roz knew there was no guarantee that any of this would work. They had old magic, dark words and, there, flickering at the center of her chest, a glimmer of hope that it might work. If Roz could give him that chance, to reach the end and come out alive, she would.

And Roz wanted him to live. There was nothing impartial about it as emotion weighed heavily at the center of her chest, a lump in her throat threatening to cut her off if she thought too hard about what she was asking of him and her place in it all at the end of the road.

“I can give you a way to survive,” Roz continued, her voice husky and thick with emotion. “There would be a child…” It was the way his face softened with surprise at her words that made it even harder to try to say what came next. “A child with an old god within, one I would raise far from here.”

That was the caveat: she and Morrigan would leave once the final blow was struck. Roz didn’t know where, but Morrigan had a plan and Roz trusted her sister with her life. She had to believe it would all be right in the end, even if it meant departing from the one her heart loved. 

“A baby?” There it was again, a quiet hope in his voice as he brushed a tear away from her cheek, his features breaking into a very small smile. “Our child?” If he had heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it aloud. “I never…” He swallowed visibly, his eyes shining. “I’d never expected to have any children of my own. But this…”

Eventually, Roz knew the truth would sink in, wondering if he’d regret it in the end. This wasn’t going to be a happily ever after for them, regardless of how they both felt about one another.

“Come to bed, my love,” Roz whispered, her lips ghosting against his, unable to rid herself of the bittersweetness that clung to her tongue. “Come to bed and let me love you.” No one knew what tomorrow would bring, but at least Roz would know that she had tried.


	7. Enchanted

Skyhold was far more impressive than Roz had anticipated. Looming high on the mountaintop, she paused to take it in. Morrigan was pushing them both forward, single minded in her purpose to reach the walls by nightfall. Officially, they were “on loan” from the Empress; unofficially, Roz was relieved to no longer be stuck behind masks and ball gowns, playing the role of haughty court enchanter for the Orlesians to gasp and whisper about.

“Mama?” Small hands tugged at her tunic as Roz glanced down, her expression softening as Bryony looked up. There was no mistaking that she was Vincent’s child: the same dark hair and big sapphire colored eyes would have given her away, but the endless curiosity and stubbornness often made her think of him. 

“Yes, my darling?” Roz reached to take one of her child’s small hands in hers. She was growing too fast, already sprouting taller than before they’d left their quiet home in the woods to live in Orlais. Soon she’d be grown and Roz felt an ache at the center of her chest at the thought; ten years had gone by so quickly, ten more might also do the same.

“Do you think the castle’s enchanted?” 

Roz considered a moment, letting a softer, huffing laugh escape as steam from her lips in the mountaintop air. “What do you think?” 

Bryony stood a moment in complete stillness and, not for the first time, Roz was aware of just how different her daughter was. There was an old soul within her, adding a weight and levity to her tone at times that spoke of someone (or something) beyond her years. It was unnerving the first few times, but there was also a steady certainty in knowing this was just who she was. Neither good nor bad, just a girl with old magic in her veins and a tendency to know far more than she should have.

“The veil feels thin,” Bryony replied, “and there’s magic in the air.” Her eyes were wide and knowing as they moved from the castle back to Roz. “Ancient power, sleeping beneath the stones. A wolf at the door but I don’t know if he’s friend or foe. Don’t you feel it?”

“I believe you.” Roz couldn’t feel it yet, but she was certain the closer they went, the easier it would be. Bryony had always been far more sensitive to these sorts of things. “Come along, we need to catch up to your aunt.”

“Will Papa be able to find us here?” Her voice was so small, a child once again as they moved forward down the path. Roz squeezed Bryony’s hand in her own, swallowing back her doubts and fears of just where Vincent was. It had been months since his last letter and she wasn’t certain she could feel him through the twin rosewood ring she wore on her hand that matched one she had given him all those years ago.

“Your father will find us, no matter where we go, my little love.” 


	8. Frail

One thing had become clear the moment they left the circle: Roz did not like Wynne.

“Are you certain you’re not too frail to be coming along?” There was a bitter edge to Roz’s voice as she glanced back at their newest companion with unbridled suspicion. Truthfully, she’d been helpful in taking back the circle, but her sanctimonious attitude and seeming to hold herself in high regard for being trained within the circle rubbed Roz the wrong way.

“I can assure you, I’m spry enough,” Wynne didn’t take the bait, much to Roz’s chagrin, looking at Roz from across the fire with a steady, serene gaze that made Roz shift in her seat uncomfortably.

“Can I help you?” Roz snapped, words readily barbed.

Being appraised had never been something Roz enjoyed, not when it was someone who expected her to feel gratitude for their words or that she should thank them. It was what she felt at this exact moment, small and unworthy. It reminded her of her mother’s words, always slicing in places that proved lethal to her self-esteem if Roz focused too hard on it. There were similarities between the pair of them, but Roz was happier to see the differences instead as she braced for whatever Wynne had to say.

“You have talent, Rosalind, even though you didn’t study properly. I might be able to help you refine-”

“No, thank you.” Politeness escaped her as she leveled Wynne with a glower from across the fire, bristling at the thought of lessons from the crone. “I doubt you have anything new you could teach me.” Flemeth hadn’t been perfect, but she’d imparted enough on her daughters to ensure that they knew how to wield their powers in the world.

Disinclined to try speaking further, Roz reached into her bag, pulling from the depths the Black Grimoire Vincent had brought back with him from the tower. It had been a hope, a dream that it would still remain where her mother insisted it had been, but that didn’t stop Roz from hoping it would shed some light on magic not even the precious circle would show her.

Across the way, low voices caught her attention - Alistair was saying something and Vincent’s laugh rolled in the darkness. She clutched the book close to her chest, willing her heart to stop it’s incessant fluttering in her chest. He didn’t need to bring this back or to do anything for her, and yet she’d stood in the hallway of his destroyed home as he looked for a needle in a haystack.

Vincent’s gaze shifted and, for a moment, their eyes met. Roz held steady, catching a bashful sort of smile before he looked away first. What had that meant? 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him. Gaze might be a better term.” Wynne interrupted Roz’s inner monologue, snapping her back into the present. The enchanter was watching Roz intently, something far colder in her eyes than before. “Young love is often bright and fleeting.”

“I don’t _gaze_ at him.” Roz stood quickly, the book tucked under her arm. “And even if I did, it’s none of your business.” She was dizzy with the idea, though, of him gazing back at her with - what, longing? Lust? Wanting?

“There may come a time when he will have to choose between someone he loves and saving the world. Don’t force him to make that choice.” Wynne stated this as though it were a fact. Roz swallowed hard, turning her back to Wynne swiftly to avoid any further examination.

“I don’t need your advice. On magic technique _or_ anything else.” It was a mistake to come back to the main fire, stalking across the camp. Her tent was a welcome reprieve, shutting the flap and world from entering inside for the night.


	9. Swing

“Was it lonely growing up in the wilds?” Stopped along the road, trying to catch their breath after another short fight with darkspawn, Vincent held out an apple for Roz as they watched and waited for Zevran and Leliana to finish picking anything of value from the area. They had a keen eye and sense for these things, which Roz could appreciate. Despite her swampy home, she didn’t see any reason to go traipsing through mud and blood unless she had to.

“Not entirely,” Roz replied lightly, taking the apple without a second’s thought. That was new and it made her pause a moment, frowning at the ripened fruit in her hand before biting into it. Survival in the world often meant assessing the dangers that surrounded her; men, honestly, had often been at the top of her list, along with templars and the few wild wolves that decided to stray too close to their homestead. She chewed thoughtfully, letting her leg swing from where she sat atop a blessedly sturdy fence.

“My sister was my constant companion. She taught me so many things that kept me alive.” A little smile flickered across her lips, but sorrow and joy mingled in her mind. “She left not too long before all of you showed up in the wilds.”

“What’s she like?” Vincent asked, curiosity hard to miss in his voice. He seemed to notice the look on Roz’s face as he continued, almost hasty in trying to explain. “I don’t have any siblings. I’ve always wondered what it would be like, having someone as your friend from the start.”

Roz gave a startled laugh, a small piece of apple flying from her lips. “Friend from the start?” She cackled, wiping at her mouth, too bemused to be embarrassed. “Oh, you poor thing, that’s not how it works.” Her laughter bubbled up again, mirth alight in Vincent’s gaze as he watched her. “No, there were times when I wondered how we could even be related. Morrigan is…” How could she begin to describe her?

“Morrigan is colder than I am,” Roz continued, twisting the stem of her apple slowly. “Pragmatic and cunning. But she cares very deeply, once she’s dropped her survival of the fittest act.” Like the sun and the moon, it seemed, so they complemented one another in their life among the wilds. “We are both apostates, both sharing magic and a thirst for more than the swamp could offer us.”

“It sounds like you miss her.” An apt observation that Roz nodded her head to, agreeing as it was said.

“Yes, terribly.” Would she ever see Morrigan again? That question lingered in her mind as they traveled across Ferelden, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign that her older sister had been wandering through. So far, though, nothing pointed to it and it was hard not to feel a sort of disappointment over it. “I hope to see her again someday. But the world is wide and many terrible things can happen in the blink of an eye.”

“But also many wonderful things, don’t you think?” Ever the optimist, Vincent had hope in his eyes and it was almost blinding the way he simply announced it, as though it were the truest thing there could be. Shading her eyes, Roz let her gaze linger on him, a mage not made hardened by the world but, rather, hopeful and bright in the face of death itself.

“You are far too cheerful to be a warden, Vincent.” She teased him easily, trying (and failing) to hide the little smile that touched her lips again. “But, yes, I suppose there can be good and bad in the world.” He gave her hope, she thought, even if he didn’t know it.

“I suppose we have to find some goodness here,” Vincent replied, leaning against the fence beside her. Ever so slightly, his hand rested against her own, skin barely brushing against hers. It almost jolted her off the fence, startled at how swift her heart began to race in her chest, aware of just how close he was. He didn’t meet her gaze, but his ears had flushed pink and Roz, turning away, simply gazed out at the fields before them.

One move and she might touch him. One move and she would forever change.

Leliana’s voice ripped her from her thoughts as Roz snapped out of it, catching sight of the bard and assassin waving them from across the way. Vincent almost looked apologetic, standing straight again. “I’ll see what’s going on,” he murmured, glancing back at her for only a moment, his stride quickly taking him further away from her.

It took far too long for her heart to slow and her hands to stop sweating. She gripped her apple tightly, taking another large bite, willing herself to ignore an almost moment, tilting her face into the early fall sunlight instead.


	10. Pattern

The Denerim market was jarring, to say the least; all the noises of people hawking their wares, shouting to barter and pressing together to get at anything they sensed might be a better deal. Keeping her arms close to her sides, Roz eyed everyone around her warily, ready to snarl and escape if she needed to. Give her open skies and a dangerous pathway through the woods any day over the chaos that surrounded their group.

“I still don’t understand why we’ve come here,” Roz murmured to Leliana, sticking close to the bard as they shifted through the crowd. “Won’t Vincent just find himself in trouble?” Propaganda and lies were the currency these days as the city reeled still from the loss of their King and the apparent “betrayal” of the Grey Wardens. No one had stopped them yet, but Roz swore she felt eyes on the back of her head as they wandered through.

“You sound worried, Rosalind,” Leliana pointed out, an oddly knowing gleam in her gaze. “I’m sure Vincent knows how to care for himself. I doubt anyone will be knifing him in the back here.” 

“One hopes…” Roz murmured, pausing as they surveyed a table before them. Laid out in the dappled sunlight, beautiful jewelry and trinkets from across a distant sea. Roz felt it well up within her chest, a longing to reach out and run her fingers along the polished edges and glimmering crystals that sparkled whenever the breeze moved the tarp that hung above them. 

“How lovely!” Leliana cooed over a dainty necklace, letting her hands run over different pieces in turn that caught her eye. “I’ve always had a weakness for pretty things. It’s too bad they don’t have any shoes…”

But it wasn’t the necklaces or rings that caught Roz’s eye. Her hand paused, fingers hovering over a small hand mirror, the gold glinting in another shift of sunlight. She remembered one like this, from years ago, the patterned filigree and delicate handle treasured in her sister’s hands. It had shattered so easily when their mother discovered it; it was one of the few times Roz had seen her older sister weeping for the loss of something precious to her. 

“Do you see anything you like?” There was a small nudge from Leliana as Roz remained frozen a moment longer. Far from the wilds and she could do whatever she wished. If she wanted, truly, she could take this mirror for herself (paying for it, though it seemed to make little sense when there was destruction on the horizon) and simply enjoy it.

“Baubles and trinkets have no meaning,” Roz murmured quickly, her hand retracting from the mirror laid out on the table. “Pretty things are worthless in the end.” The voice that escaped felt like her mother’s, a line that came to mind whenever Morrigan tried to gather pretty trinkets to stash away from Flemeth’s watchful gaze. 

“They’re not worthless if you enjoy them,” Leliana’s voice was soft, comforting in a way that caught Roz by surprise. There was anguish on her companion’s face for a moment, an understanding that flickered between them. “I learned long ago to try and let go of the things that poisoned me. People, places, words and memories.” Her fingers traced along the edges of the mirror Roz was trying to avoid. “Sometimes, doing things, even if they seem small, that goes against the poison helps. Spite can be a wonderful motivator, no?”

Roz gave a soft, huffing laugh, letting her fingers touch the golden edge of the mirror. “It is rather pretty,” she murmured, “but I don’t know…” Spite or not, her hesitation lingered, for what use could such a pretty thing have for their camps and fighting that was sure to come? 

“Anything good here?” Vincent’s voice startled her from her thoughts as Roz jerked her hand back swiftly. 

“How you manage to sneak upon us, I do not know,” Roz huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just silly little gifts, nothing useful.” Her gaze flickered over to the mirror one last time before turning away. “I’m getting some air, I’ll meet all of you back at the gates.” 

Hours later, in the last bits of sunlight, Roz gaped at the mirror in her hands, the weight very real against her palms. _A gift_ , he’d told her, knowing better than to linger too long as she let the cogs of her mind churn and turn. There was a fluttering in her chest as she clutched the object tightly to her, a silly little smile overcoming her face.


	11. Snow

“I could keep you warm, dear warden, if you find it too cold tonight.” Zevran was flirting with Vincent, offering a silky smile and a gaze meant to make Vincent blush. It was working, Vincent thought, feeling heat rising in his cheeks, glancing to the Antivan beside him. It would be easy to say yes, to follow Zevran into a tent tonight and simply enjoy himself with a beautiful man. He was no stranger to that; his preferences had never been a secret, enjoying looks and moments with men and women alike back in the circle. If not acting on them, he at least let himself pine for a while, watching beauty go in and out of his world.

And Zevran _was_ beautiful.

But his gaze drifted across the now empty town of Haven, his heart fluttering in his chest as he spotted a splash of red hair amongst the white snow banks. Her laughter echoed against the abandoned buildings, a sound that had very slowly become more present among their group. 

“Ah, I see now. One word and I shall cease, if that is what you wish.” Zevran’s tone was knowing and Vincent turned his head sharply.

“Is it that obvious?” He dropped his voice low, nervously shifting on his feet. If she knew and hadn’t said anything…

“Only when you look at her,” Zevran flashed a toothy smile and a teasing grin. “I don’t think she knows. But I notice things. If you care for her,” and Zevran cleared his throat a moment, “if you care for her, don’t let her go.” Longing colored his words and, for a moment, Zevran’s features changed; the mask fell away, leaving a vulnerability and fragileness that he hadn’t seen before. But, as soon as it was there, Vincent noted it had faded as Zevran clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Go on then.” 

The distance felt nearly unbearable as a hundred different thoughts swam through his mind. There was still much to do before the sun finished setting, Brother Genetivi would need some more thorough questioning on the Temple’s location and he still couldn’t puzzle through the madness that had swept over the village here. There were too many different thoughts buzzing through his mind, some heavier than others, a weight that he couldn’t shake from his shoulders. 

“I’d prefer _not_ to sleep in any of these cabins, thank you very much,” Roz was informing Alistair as she worked to add another stake to the ground outside of what had once been a general store, ensuring that her tent flaps were secured. “Witch of the wilds I may be, but even I know when not to mess with the obvious fashionings of blood magic.” 

“Suit yourself,” Alistair rolled his eyes, “enjoy the cold. _I_ , for one, will be enjoying four walls and a small fire, thanks.”

“And I certainly won’t be saving your sorry hide from demons in the middle of the night,” Roz replied with a sugary sweetness that Vincent knew was far more sarcastic than anything. Alistair looked a little ruffled but Vincent laughed, the pair finally realizing he was by them.

“Need any help?” He asked, eyes only for Roz as she busied herself with another stake at the side.

“I’ve nearly gotten it.” But she didn’t turn him away, which felt like a sign to stay. He waited until she’d finished, brushing her hands off as she turned to him.

Snow clung to her eyelashes and there was a small, almost secret smile just for him appearing swiftly on her lips. “You’re staring,” she smirked, her chin tilted up slightly, caught between a playful challenge and a statement.

That mouth he had kissed and wanted so desperately kiss again.

Bold, bolder, boldest when he swept a hand to the back of her head, fingers twining in the hair. They’d only shared a few kisses, the kind that continued to make him weak in the knees and wanting more, more, more. They wouldn’t be leaving until morning and the choice lay before him: go into the home or stay with her.

Her eyes were shining. “Tis cold in my tent, all alone.” 

There was no choice after that. “Whatever shall we do to keep you warm?” He hummed under his breath, feeling the boldness creep into his voice. He could have sworn he felt a slight tremble run through her, but when his fingers tilted her chin up, there was only a steady certainty before him.

Her mouth was warm and soft under his, melting him from the inside out, following her into her tent without further question.


	12. Dragon

It looked like a dragon but, from the moment she caught sight of it in the city, Roz _knew_ it was wrong. There was an energy rippling from it, a darkness that she was certain made an archdemon dangerous to any who cross its path. Never mind the dangers of the size, but the power from it was immense.

“Are you ready?” At her side, Morrigan let her gaze sweep over the troops gathered before the city gates, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. It wasn’t something Roz was used to seeing - Morrigan was pragmatic and calm under pressure, rarely wavering from the course once she set it. This wasn’t something to be planned though, and none of them could anticipate how the battle might unfold before them. There was only one certainty: only a Grey Warden could destroy the creature for good.

“Can we ever be ready?” Roz asked in a low tone, swallowing against the dryness taken root in her mouth. Her stomach had been in knots since the night before, praying to whatever gods may be listening that they might make it to see the dawn again. 

“You did as I instructed?” Across the field, Roz caught sight of Vincent, looking to the world like he had a plan, though Roz knew it was for show. He’d been willing to try this, but Roz didn’t know what the outcome would be.

“Yes, of course,” Roz let out a shaky breath. “But will it work?” Her sister’s silence said everything that Roz feared. Reaching out, she grasped Morrigan’s hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. “Whatever happens, whatever will come to pass, know that I love you and you’ll always be my sister. I know you’ve done everything you can.”

“Tis a poor hope to hold onto, little sister,” Morrigan replied dryly, but she squeezed Roz’s hand back just as tightly. “I am with you until I can’t go any longer.”

“Pray it’s not too soon,” Roz attempted to joke, her laugh sounding too sharp and harsh against the darkening skies. In the distance, the city glowed red, fires burning in the night as the shrieks of the armies of darkspawn continued to get closer and closer. Soon it would be upon them and there would be no hiding from the finality of it all.

Giving her sister’s hand a final squeeze, Roz moved through the crowd, her eyes fixed on Vincent. When she reached him, there was an encouraging smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You shouldn’t come with me,” Vincent murmured, brushing a stray strand of red away from Roz’s face. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this thing.” 

Roz shook her head, reaching to grasp his hand tightly in hers. “Where you go, I go. I’m with you until the end, whatever that may be.” If he should die and she wasn’t there…

“Rosalind, I-”

“Hush.” There was fear and regret hanging heavy in her heart as she leaned up, capturing a kiss that tasted of saltwater on her tongue. Whatever lay ahead, even if it meant death, she could be certain they had done all they could. This would end today and Roz held fast to the fluttering hope that there would be a tomorrow to see.


	13. Ash

All it had taken was a pinch of ash to break the strange magic that swirled over Arl Eamon; Roz was certain that she wasn’t the only one surprised at this. The task had felt out of the bounds of what she knew about magic, hesitant to believe that anything so fantastical might help them gain more allies in Vincent’s quest.

However, that was where her hope for this alliance faded - and quickly. 

“He’s a snake,” Roz hissed as she brushed her hair, long strokes disentangling her thick locks, eyes narrowed as she stared at Vincent’s reflection in the mirror. “I don’t trust him.” They had been allowed to stay the night in Redcliffe, much safer now that there were no shambling dead wandering the halls of a possessed child trying to find a cure through demons. 

“I don’t think he’s all that bad,” Vincent replied, meeting her gaze in the mirror from where he sat at the edge of the bed. “He seems to have good ideas on how we can move forward.” That was true enough, evident when he rose from his sickness ready with some sort of a plan to propel them forwards. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Allies, yes, I agree, we always need more of,” Roz set the brush down, swirling on the stool to face him. “But I don’t trust him. There’s something wrong, something he has up his sleeve and I don’t know what that is.” She could respect someone setting themselves up for a win, using their cunning and charm to gain a foothold, but something had shifted. When it involved Vincent, her heart clenched tightly, visceral in her want to keep him from being affected by plots and planning that might hurt him.

“If he has plans,” Vincent murmured, standing to cross the room, sinking to his knees before Roz, “we’ll face it when we have more information.” He toyed with a few long strands of hair, humming softly when her fingers raked gently against his scalp in turn. “You don’t have to worry.” 

Instinct almost had her quickly denying this, jaw clenched for a moment as she let out a quick, huffing breath. _Was_ she worried? 

In the end, she leaned forward, forehead gently pressed against his. “I hope it becomes clear soon,” she murmured, choosing not to answer in full. It didn’t matter in the end, she thought, sighing a little into the soft kiss that followed. 

It didn’t alleviate the worry in her chest, but soothed it for the time being. 


	14. Overgrown

The Brecilian forest felt old, the sprawling expanse of moss on trees and gentle brooks a welcome reprieve from weeks spent beneath the surface of the ground. It had only been two weeks and a few days, but it felt like an eternity since Roz had seen the sun or breathed in fresh air rather than the heat and rock dust that seemed to constantly surround them down in Orzammar. There was a kind of magic in the air that rippled through the breeze, casting a half-romantic, half-foreboding sensation among the temple ruins covered in overgrown vines and blossoms.

The first signs of spring had come to life since they’d been below and Roz couldn’t stop herself from letting her fingers brush along them, savoring the soft hope that came with new life. The world was still just as dark as before, but there was hope yet that lingered in the air. Renewal and regrowth despite the dark deeds that lingered along the edges of the wood that they had yet to explore on their way towards the Dalish.

Of course, it would be here, where ruin mixed with danger, that Morrigan would reappear again.

“Hello, Rosalind.” There was a moment that Roz hesitated, wondering if she was dreaming instead. This had to be a vision brought up because the weight of Flemeth was gone from her; Roz wanted nothing more than to see her sister, to tell her the good news, but this couldn’t be reality. 

Yet she was solid and real when her hand rested upon Roz’s shoulder and the plates Roz had been scrubbing by the small creek lay forgotten on the shore as she flung her arms around her sister.

“Morrigan!” Tears sprung to Roz’s eyes as she held tight to Morrigan. “How did you find me? What in the world are you doing out here?” The odds alone of simply stumbling upon one another was beyond belief as she pulled back, observing her sister’s face in the early morning light. 

“I’ve been following you,” Morrigan admitted softly, “from a distance.” There was apprehension on her face, though she was also mirroring Roz’s happiness, her own golden eyes brighter than usual. 

“Then you must know what happened to mother?” Grasping Morrigan’s hands tightly in her own, Roz offered a tight smile, uncertain if it was happiness that came with her news or heartbreak; somehow it settled in the middle, bittersweet on the tip of her tongue. “You’re safe now, she can’t get to you or me ever again. She can’t use us to keep living after she should be dead.” Those had been the worst fears that came from the Black Grimoire, a startling realization that left her breathless. There was no room for fear though, not from that fate. 

She expected Morrigan to be pleased, but there was only a slight smile, her gaze distant as Morrigan looked over Roz carefully.

“What is it?” Roz questioned, anxiety a tight coil in her chest, gripping Morrigan’s hands tighter than before. “What’s wrong?” 

“I saw it happen,” Morrigan admitted quietly. “I know Mother is dead and you have her true Grimoire.” But there was more and Roz tried to take a few deep breaths in the face of uncertainty over new secrets to pile on top of the facts that she knew now.

“You were never in danger from her magic, Roz,” Morrigan’s voice was low, gripping Roz’s hands back just as tightly. “Only her biological children - her daughters - would be. When I found out, I knew I had to leave. You would be safe from her, but I would not.” 

There was a roaring in her ears, uncertainty growing into understanding as Roz fought against awareness that rushed over her at a dizzying speed. “What are you saying?” There were tears in her eyes that she couldn’t contain as her voice wobbled. “That we’re not family?” 

“Family is more than just bloodlines, Rosalind. You and I both know that.” Morrigan replied fiercely. “This doesn’t change that.”

“But you’re my sister! I grew up with you and mother! How could you both keep this from me?” A sob escaped this time, savage and howling emotion at war in her chest. “ _Why_ would you keep this from me?” 

“Roz?” Vincent appeared from the camp, his voice tinged with a worry that she had noted many times before. “Is everything alright, I-” He paused and Roz turned to catch the wide-eyed look on his face. Morrigan didn’t seem surprised, recognition passing between them in an instant.

“As I told your friend at the hut-” Morrigan began, but Roz’s breath caught, cutting her sister off at the pass.

“ _You knew_?!” Roz turned on him with a snarl, taking steps back away from Vincent before he could approach her. “You knew this, and you didn’t tell me?” 

Vincent looked gutted, a hand extended into the empty air between them. “Roz, please, I can explain-”

But Roz was done, her heart aching as she turned her back on them both. “Don’t bother.” She bit the words out and, before she could let herself stay and listen, she took off in a run. One, two, three strides before, in a puff of black feathers, she took to the skies, leaving behind the two people she’d trusted and loved most.


	15. Legend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooop, the last of prompts I'd already finished, now to write the rest of them~

“I _knew_ we shouldn’t have taken any path that led us through the wilds.”

“It’s not bad. At least the only things we’ll come across are wolves and maybe a few swamp rats. Nothing we can’t handle.” 

The two Templars no longer bothered lowering their voices as they spoke, dragging their small charge alongside them through the swampy countryside they found themselves in. Rosalind was trying to remember their names, but everything felt like a blur of colors and sounds and the sensation of falling. Like last spring, when she’d climbed too high in the tree and, caught teetering on the edge of the branch, her stomach had flipped and flopped before there was nothing between her back but air and a rushing to the ground.

Matthew had been there, ready to scoop her back to her feet, reminding her that she was fine, nothing had broken and wiping back tears that often came easily to her.

“I’m tired!” Mother had often told her that whining wouldn’t get her anywhere, but Rosalind couldn’t help it. Her feet hurt from days walking and she didn’t know how to sleep anywhere without her bunny. Her favorite toy had been left, like so many things, back at the house she no longer lived in. “I wanna go home!”

They ignored her, though a pair of rough hands slung her up off the ground, carrying her as they kept talking. It had been like this since leaving home, taking her far away so she couldn’t accidentally burn off her brother’s eyebrows again or set fire to the curtains in the playroom. Words had been thrown about that she didn’t understand, asking and finding her answers ready, only stony silence from the ones she loved.

“You’ve heard the stories, though,” one of them grumbled, using a word that Rosalind didn’t know. Her nose wrinkled, disinterested in laying her head against an armored shoulder anyways.

“What does ‘legend’ mean?” She let the word roll around on her tongue, trying to discern the meaning behind it. Matthew would explain words to her sometimes, but a glance behind them showed her that he wasn’t following. He’d stayed behind and her stomach knotted tightly.

“Nothing you need to know,” the Templar not holding her grumbled.

“Oh, but I believe she _does_ , especially with the legends you’re indulging in.” The voice came from just beyond the brush, causing both Templars to stop as Rosalind frowned, her small head turning from side to side to find where it was coming from. 

Golden eyes glowed, a wrinkled smile seemingly saved only for the guards accompanying Rosalind. “I can smell your fear on the wind, dear ones. You who fear so much and yet have stumbled upon me.” There was a flash of teeth and Rosalind felt it in the air - _magic_. “A witch of the wilds. And I am _very_ hungry.”

Rosalind’s feet hit the ground, altogether jarred as she nearly fell onto her bottom. There was shouting, a flash of light and crunching that made her start to tremble. Both hands covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to hum something - anything to keep from whatever was happening. 

As soon as it began, it was over. Her guards were nowhere in sight; instead, an older woman stood before Rosalind, watching with curiosity. Slowly, Rosalind removed her hands from her ears, lower lip trembling. Like the stories she’d been told, she, too, would be eaten in the middle of the woods. She desperately wished for her bunny then, tears welling in her eyes.

“And who do we have here?” The woman’s voice no longer sounded so sinister, but there was an edge to it that Rosalind had often heard with her own parents. Curious and perhaps a little bored with the little child before them. 

“Rosalind,” she whispered, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Are...are you going to eat me, too?”

The woman surprised her then, giving a harsh, cackling laugh that spooked a small flock of birds from a nearby tree. “I will not eat you, little one.” Instead, she bent down, eye to eye with Rosalind. “It seems I have found a flower amongst the moss and dirt.” She stood, brushing her skirts off, holding a hand out for Rosalind. “Come along, this is no place for a girl.”

Rosalind hesitated, uncertainty almost winning her over.

“Quickly! Quickly!” The woman snapped and Rosalind, acting on instinct, reached forward to grasp her hand. For a moment, all felt clear and true; the next, it was a fog. There were people she was supposed to remember, she thought, places she was going. But, glancing up, she only saw the face of her mother in front of her.

“Come along, my girl,” Flemeth coaxed gently. “Your sister is waiting for you.” Ever obedient, Rosalind nodded her head and followed deeper into the wilds.


	16. Wild

“It seems you have done the impossible.” A low, sultry voice interrupted the silence following battle; Vincent had hardly been able to catch his breath before he turned, nearly stumbling over a rock at the sudden appearance of the woman. 

There was something wild and mysterious hanging around her like a shroud, golden eyes all but seeing straight through him. Leliana was quick to notch an arrow in place, Alistair and Zevran falling swiftly into formation again at a new danger. Yet she didn’t move to attack them, Vincent noted, hesitating to send a spell forth to begin another fight anew. His mana was building slowly and a sheen of sweat clung to his hairline. Flemeth had been a mighty foe in dragon form, taking a toll on the group he’d brought with him back into the wilds.

If she had more power than any of them, they might not survive it.

“Hold,” He said quietly, a hand up to stall his companions, letting his gaze flit between them and the woman. 

_Apostate_ was more like it, his eyes catching sight of the stave at her back. No other sane, stable person would be wandering through the wilds, which had seen destruction from the hoard that had ravaged through there only a few months ago. Not even the frost could hide the trampled earth beneath their feet or the lingering stench of death that remained from homes and villages not far from here that no longer stood.

“A wise move,” the woman smirked, her eyes lingering on Vincent. “I don’t come to fight any of you.”

“Then why are you here?” Alistair barked; a bruise was blooming along his jaw from a blow Flemeth had dealt with her tail, but his shield was raised, eyes alight and ready to leap back into the fray again. He wouldn’t unless Vincent gave the word, which felt like both a blessing and a curse, knowing that he had sway over the companions who had followed him willingly here.

“To claim what is mine.” Jerking her chin towards the corpse of the dragon, she continued, “My mother has many things for you to take that you could sell, but I only want what rightfully belongs to me.” 

“Mother?” Vincent asked, confusion suddenly blossoming into realization. “Are...are you Morrigan?” 

Amusement and a little bit of surprise flashed across her face as Morrigan laughed, low and long as Vincent put the pieces together. “My sister picked someone smart to claim this, I see.” 

“You want her Grimoire, too,” Vincent shook his head. “You know I can’t let you take it. Roz asked me to bring it back.” His heart fluttered at the mere mention of her name, warm at the idea that he could do something good for her. “You must know about the dark magic your mother wanted to use on you both.”

Morrigan hesitated, lips pressed tightly in a line as she glanced to the still on-guard members of his party, then back to Vincent. “Might we speak, Warden?” She asked, adding swiftly, “In private.”

“Don’t follow her, Vincent!” Alistair barked. “She’ll just turn you into a swamp creature to eat later.” 

“There aren’t only dark, grisly creatures among the swamps.” Morrigan snapped swiftly. “Flowers, too, grow among the moss and leaves. I promise I don’t mean any harm to your fearless leader.”

“How do you know I’m the leader?” Vincent asked, following as she gestured him closer, turning away from the group. Up close, there was something about the way she stood, guarded and aloof, that reminded him of Roz. Yet that’s where the similarities stopped, for, much like the not deceased Flemeth, Morrigan had bright golden eyes and the same sharp lines her mother had cut.

“It’s obvious they follow you,” Morrigan’s voice was lower now that he was closer, “but I...well, Rosalind wasn’t the only one who followed you out of the swamp.” 

“Why?” Vincent blurted out, bewildered that Morrigan wouldn’t make herself known to Roz, who talked longingly of seeing her again. “Your sister misses you. She thinks you’re long gone, maybe even dead with everything happening!” He swore he saw regret flash across her features, but Morrigan shook her head, dropping her gaze.

“There are reasons why I’ve stayed away. Roz wouldn’t understand them, nor would she like what I know or have learned.” Morrigan glanced down to the cabin again. “I have a greater need for the Grimoire than she does.” She made a move to brush away from their conversation, turning back down to her home, but Vincent’s stave moved, jutting out as he blocked her from moving forward.

“You know I can’t let you just swoop in with strange claims and simply take it.” Vincent wasn’t interested in fighting, but the thought of making Roz unhappy, of disappointing her in this task, felt too heavy in his chest. 

For a moment, Vincent thought he’d brought another fight to them anyways as tension sparked in the air between the pair. His grip tightened on the staff, holding his breath as his mind raced through the steps he could take to ensure that they made it out of the fray.

“I know what Roz read,” Morrigan’s voice dipped, low and soft as some of the tension left her body. “She had nothing to fear from our mother. Only natural-born daughters have to fear being claimed.”

Silence settled like a stone between them as Vincent took in a sharp breath. “So Roz-” he began, Morrigan swiftly cutting him off before he could dive further into it.

“Mother returned from the wilds one day, a long time ago, with my sister in tow. A companion, I think, to keep me from being lonely, though I doubt Flemeth ever truly cared about my feelings as such.” Morrigan shook her head. “No matter, for Roz is my sister, regardless of bloodlines or where she came from before.”

Vincent let his staff drop, slowly, away from blocking Morrigan. “You can look through it, but I need to bring it back with me.” No matter what Morrigan said, he knew Roz would want to see this thing for herself. She deserved that, even if she was safe as Morrigan said she was.

Morrigan looked Vincent up and down with a cold, calculating gaze that made him want to slink away from her. Yet, he held his stance, holding her gaze as steadily as he could manage. 

“Rest for the night here,” Morrigan broke the hold her gaze had on him, glancing to his companions not too far away, “and by morning I will be gone, but you can take the book to Roz.”

“Won’t you come back with us?” Vincent asked on impulse and Morrigan gave a hollow, barking laugh.

“Not yet. There are still too many things to do. As much as I would like to see Roz again…” Her voice trailed off, shaking her head sadly. “I will return, eventually, just not yet.”


	17. Ornament

Something instantly felt _wrong_ when she opened her eyes. Roz blinked a few times, trying to shake the sluggishness that she’d feel when napping late in the afternoon, uncertain of the time or how long she had been left asleep in the bed she and Morrigan had shared as children. Her world came into focus slowly, at first, then all at once.

The walls of their home in the wilds became clear and the scent of dinner cooking at the hearth made her stomach rumble. Certainly, she had spent her afternoon wandering the wilds for herbs and healing flowers to bring home, and, now that she had slept, her appetite was woken as well. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” From her chair by the hearth, her mother gave a wide smile that briefly made Roz feel warm from her head all the way to her toes. Love was in that look and Roz had to berate herself for having ever doubted that Flemeth loved her. She was her mother, and mothers were supposed to love their children, right?

“How long was I out?” Roz asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face, sitting so she was on the edge of the bed. Then, thoughtfully, she added. “I had the strangest dream.”

“Oh?” Setting her book down, Flemeth swept across the room, fixing Roz’s hair with a gentle hand before sitting beside her. “Do you remember what it was about?”

“It was…” Roz paused, frowning, her mind turning to molasses that she couldn’t get through. Every thought slipped from her fingers, catching only stray bits and pieces that felt jumbled and confused when she spoke them aloud. “A tower far away, and monsters had come to our home, and there was a man-” She cut herself off, flushed from the neck up as she dropped her gaze to her hands. “It’s the oddest thing,” she murmured to herself, “but I feel I’ve forgotten something important.”

“Dreams are nonsense sometimes, dear girl,” Her mother smiled gently as she stood. “You should set the table, your sister should be home soon, and then we can enjoy our supper together.”

A sharp, precise prickle ran up Roz’s spine as she shook her head. A tingling at the back of her mind that wouldn’t let go, claws of some forgotten truth digging deep within her being. “Morrigan is coming?” She asked, standing as she glanced about their home again. Everything was in order, from the ornaments that lined the window sills to the linens on the bed, but Roz had a strong, sinking feeling that this wasn’t-

“This isn’t real.” The loving warmth evaporated as soon as the words left her mouth. The walls around her wobbled and, with little fanfare, faded swiftly as she found herself left in the Fade. Her ‘mother’, however, wasn’t ready to give up the act.

“Whatever do you mean, Rosalind?” Cloying and far too sweet to truly be her mother, Roz stepped back from the demon’s hands that reached for her. The facade flickered, ever so briefly, revealing a flash of teeth that were too sharp and power that smelled sharply of fear and desire. 

“Morrigan left us,” Roz snapped angrily. “The real Flemeth would know this.” Her hands curled into fists, seeking her power, only to find it snuffed and leashed. Her movements, all her thoughts, felt too slow as she shook her head again. “My mother has never been this kind. Give up the act, we both know you’re tired of it.”

There was another rippled across the false Flemeth, but its attention shifted to look just over Roz’s shoulder. A familiar wash of power seeped into her senses: petrichor and the air just before a storm made her dizzy with relief. She didn’t even have to look behind her, lips curling into an assured smile.

“Nice of you to join us, Vincent. I hope you have a plan to escape.” 


End file.
